Testimonies
by Albion19
Summary: Different accounts of a shooting. Maya/Sylar. AU.


The body lies spread eagled on the sidewalk, her brightly coloured clothes, Canary yellow and Madonna blue, in stark contrast against the grey slabs. Her dark hair ripples out from her scalp in glinted waves, some ends trailing in the dust while other strands lie across her oddly peaceful face. A beautiful death mask. She appears to be in her mid twenties, skin supple and smooth. Onlookers would later think that maybe she wasn't dead? As if she had decided to lie down and sleep. Not dead but sleeping, for she was still warm, her lips and cheeks still red with the illusion of life.

But at that moment what they had really done was run, run and scream away from the sound and the body suddenly falling at their feet. Away from the gun.

Her right hand lays beside her head, her fingers curled gently towards her palm. The other presses the pads of three fingers against the hole in her chest but the blood seeps out from under them, a red rivet that trails over her collar and over her shoulder to stain her cardigan and, after a little while, the cement below her.

The witnesses later said that they had at first run from the noise and then come back, a sick curiosity egging them to return. But the sight of the man standing over the woman's inert body made them stall. They described a fear that was different to the shock they had just had, the elation of their continued existence that everyone of them felt ebbing at that man's face.

White, white skin, bloodless, like it was his blood pooling out on the ground. Strange, huge eyes staring out of his blanched face, sometimes gold like a lions or shifting to pitch black in the changing light. Hate shone, rayed out from them, out over all of them but the full force of it was directed in one direction. At one person. His body wavered. Like the gun in his limp hand.

The onlookers told the police that they thought he was going to shoot, thought that anyone who could look like that wouldn't hesitate. But the sounds of sirens in the distance seemed to shake him, eyelashes fluttering down over those eyes as he took in the spectacle of the dead woman below him. They all maintained that he had stared as if hypnotised by her face before a strange groan was heard and then the gun fell to the ground with a heavy dull thud. Then he was running, grey blur turning a dark corner and lost to sight.

But the Hispanic woman remained, sobbing on her knees, her voice moaning out over them, filled with pain. She speaks the same phrase over and over again.

"En el último, en el último, en el último." (At last, at last, at last.)

* * *

Her hands wrap around the Styrofoam cup; the dark, milky-gold tea oscillating around the rim. She doesn't drink from it, just swirls and watches.

The men across form her shift in their seats, the only indicator of unrest in their otherwise composed bodies.

"Ms Rodriguez? Catalina?"

"Si?" She looks up suddenly, eyes widening in surprise like she's seeing them for the first time.

"Catalina-"

"Lina, please."

He nods in agreement. "Lina, can you tell us what happened?"

She exhales shakily and presses her lips together firmly as she nods. "I'm ready."

* * *

"Can confirm that you are David Smithers?"

"Yes sir."

The kid sits in the plastic seat, arms leaning against the table top. His eyes switch to the recorder, watching the wheels spin.

"At approximately 8: 21 on the morning of March 12th you witnessed the shooting of one Maya Herrera, correct?"

"Umm, not exactly sir."

"Just tell us what you saw."

David nods. "Well I was going to school, walking down the street minding my own when from behind me I hear this huge bang. Man. You hear gunshots in the movies and TV but when it's real, nothing prepares you for the sound. I thought a bomb had gone off." He pauses, shaking his head, but a look at the detective opposite snaps him out of reverie. "Sorry, sorry. Right so the gun goes off and I hit the deck and so do the people around me. Then I turn my head to look behind me and see that girl lying on the ground." He pauses again, looking sheepish. "I wanted to go see if she was alright but dude, that guy with the gun was like crazy, I mean he looked like it so I just stayed where I was. But then I felt like a target, being out in the open, so I got up and ran."

The detective nods. "Can you describe this man?"

"Tall, over six feet. Around twenty six or seven. White. Black hair…erm, wearing black clothes I think. I can't be sure but I'm pretty sure that was it."

"Did you see the anything else?"

"I'm sorry man- sir, after I took a look behind me I was out of there."

"Thank you David."

* * *

"My daughter, Maria Rodriguez, my daughter…" She trails off, her words chocking her. She swallows with difficulty, her eyes brimming. One of the detectives hands her a tissue.

"Gracias, gracias." She blows her nose, sighing. She shakes her head, looking between them. "I thought that it would ease you know? I thought the anger would go. The pain never does but the rage, it's still here. My daughter is gone and I still feel so angry…"

"Lina…We understand that your daughter passed away some months ago?"

"Not passed away!" She rises up from her seat, eyes blazing. "No, never that."

The detective offers his palms to her, patting the air. "Forgive me. It was reported that your daughter died of poisoning?"

Lina snorted, sitting back but her eyes still gleamed. "That's what they want you to think…"

"Who's is they, Lina?"

"I don't know. They! They! My Maria was murdered, my daughter. She was only seven." She breaks down again and the detectives sit back, eyes avoiding her to look at each other in confusion.

* * *

"I saw the young woman on the ground and was heading towards her but the tall man had a gun so I didn't." Margaret Pascal sits with her back straight in the chair, her feet crossed at the ankle under her. She was stiff with nerves. "I didn't think it was safe you see?"

The policewoman tilts her head and Margaret continues. "I saw the man with the gun standing next to the kneeling Spanish woman. He had his hand- fingers- on her shoulder and the gun was pointed at the dead girl."

"Did you see anything before this?"

"No, I'm sorry I didn't."

"So you think it was the man in black that shot the deceased?"

"Well yeah, I mean he had the gun and looked pissed."

Detective Daniels gave the witness opposite a look to continue. But was met with silence. "Did you see the man actually pull the trigger?"

"Well, no but no one else could have because he was the one with the gun." Teeth gnaw into the witnesses thin bottom lip.

"Is there anything else you would like to add?"

"No…yeah! I heard him, the shooter, he said "You bitch." Eyes peer at Daniels hopefully.

"Thank you Mr Treble."

"I left the Dominican Republic to live in the states with my husband. We left Maria with his mother. We had to wait until we got citizenship to bring her over. We were two years away from it." Lina's calmer now, cigarette between her fingers, smoke curling around them. "But we would visit her as often as we could. We wrote every week. The last letter she sent me I have in my bag, I'd show you it but the policewoman took if off me. Maria was so excited. I had sent her a dress you see, she was going to be a bridesmaid, her and the other little girls." She breaks off and smiles sadly.

"Lina, I am truly sorry for your loss. But what relevance does this have to the shooting?"

She looks at him hard. "Everything." She drags in the smoke and then speaks. "Alejandro and Gloria were getting married…I remember him, from before. He was a lovely boy, always polite and kind. Looking after his big sister. Twins" Her eyes shine.

"Maya?"

A small nod. "Maya."

* * *

Hands sail through the air as she talks. "God! I thought I was gonna die! Fuck. Ok so the pretty girl is shot right in front of me and I can't look away from her, watching her fall. Time stood still, no joke. But then I hear this man's voice, all low and deep. So I turn and he's waving the gun around and pushing that crying woman to the ground. He was really, really angry. He had his teeth bared like a dog." She exhaled, shaking her head.

"Did you see that man pull the trigger?"

"Yeah, I think so."

"You think so?"

"Yes! I think so!" Challenging hot eyes meet his and he sighs internally.

"Thank you for your cooperation."

* * *

"Everyone at the wedding died, not just my daughter. Only two people survived: Alejandro and his sister. But she was nowhere to be found. I wanted answers, my Maria was taken away to be autopsied, like everyone else. We had to wait months to bury her." She's smocking her third cigarette, ash pilling up in a small hill. "We all thought that it was poisoning at first and that god had spared them. But that's not what happened. No, the devil saved them and I could see he knew it. I wanted answers so I went to him and he pretended to be just as mystified as the rest of us. But I asked about her, where was she? And he couldn't answer. But the guilt spoke louder then words."

"Then what happened?" The detectives were sat forward, faces alert.

"Well then he left to search for her I followed. My husband couldn't come, his pain was too much but I could. I followed him to Venezuela, he knew where she was. That, that…" She struggled for words as her face reddened in rage. "That bitch had been living in the monastery, for months she had polluted that place. I was outside and I saw them run out, her wearing the grey and pulling her habit off. I looked inside and I heard what had happened."

"What? What happened?"

"She makes your eyes go black and you die. My daughter, the wouldn't let me see her and now I know why. She is not human like you and me, she's something from hell. She carries death in her."

Silence stretches as they wait for her to calm down, finish the cigarette.

"I lost them after that and I almost gave up. My husband, he - he didn't believe me, thought I was mad. So did I but then god showed me the way, gave me help. I looked on the internet and just googled for any reports of deaths like my daughters. Simple but I struck gold. There was reports of it happening all through Central America, starting in Columbia, then up to Panama, Honduras, Guatemala. All black deaths. I had the trail. But then there was nothing until a report at the border, more deaths and I knew they were in America. So I came back and waited and hoped.

"You have proof of these reports?"

"Of course."

* * *

"So you are saying that the assailant didn't have the gun?"

"No detective, not really. What I saw was the girl and the man standing together and then there was a commotion, scuffle, and the girl was shot and the man had the gun when I looked back. But before that the man did _not_, I'm certain of it."

"After the shooting what did you see?"

"The man, who now had the gun, pushed the other Spanish woman to the ground."

* * *

"God delivered her to me. He has his hand guiding me. I was living in Virginia, I cleaned at the motel and there she was, having a picnic with her man." She stops, looking at them with astonishment. "Drinking wine! I could not believe my eyes but there she was. I followed them and waited, I saw her leaving with him at night, they were getting in a car. She met her match in him." She shuddered and wriggled her shoulders.

"You followed them?"

"Yes. I found them, god as my guide, I found them."

"Then what did you do Lina?"

* * *

"I saw it, I saw everything." The lady breathed loudly, like she was recovering from a cold.

"Tells us."

"It was the Spanish woman, she had the gun."

* * *

"I shot her. I killed her." Her breathing wavered as her eyes spilled over. "She killed my daughter."

* * *

"She didn't say anything, she just got in between them, pointed the gun at the girl and fired. The guy jumped in shock before he spun around and took the gun, ripping it out of her hand and shoving her down. He was snarling, eyes really wide, like a spooked animal. He was shaking, really angry. The he looked down at the girl and suddenly his face just went white, dead white. I think he swore then, not looking at anyone but the girl, Maya."

"So, for the record you are saying that the shooter was not the man?"

"It was not that man." She shook her head. "I was watching them walk down the street, as I waited for the bus. They stopped and he hugged her and they kissed. They both looked really excited about something." Regretful expression bathed her face as she sighed. "Such a waste."

* * *

"Clatalina Rodriguez, I am arresting you for the murder of Maya Herrera…."

* * *

The man in black stands alone in the alley at the back of the old watch shop, staring at nothing but the lifeless tin cans at his feet with eyes that seemed only to reflect.


End file.
